N of 45
Windy today.
Waves on the lake.
I am all talked out.
Curtis, Michigan is a good place and so is AnnMarie Rowland’s N of 45 writers’ retreat. A grand mixture of writing styles, genres, with participants sixteen to eighty (or so). Good, useful sessions with terrific writers (how have I never read Jerry Dennis before?), excellent food, an old clawfoot bathtub, bonfires and hot tubbing under the stars followed by an appearance of the northern lights.
I’m discovering that what works for me is listening, keeping my own mouth shut and writing. A lot.
It is hard work to forge connections but it’s well worth the effort. I’m figuring out who these North Country writers are and through them more about this place I find myself.
Yesterday evening’s readings were a mixture of good, bad and almost holy.
Tom wrote about a place in the woods that doesn’t exist anymore. A poet in overalls he is, saying things like “many dogs ago,” and “We saw ourselves, we saw each other, which is the same thing.” And, one of my favorites, “If you think you’re meditating, you’re not.”
I will come back here. At least, I hope so.
5/12/2012
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